


Five Lessons On The Pandion Order

by Leyenn



Category: Elenium-Tamuli - Eddings
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every order of the Church Knights has its own quirks, even to a fellow knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Lessons On The Pandion Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KirstRavensoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirstRavensoul/gifts).



> Spoilerish up through The Tamuli. Written for Kirst Ravensoul for Yuletide 2007.

**  
** _1\. Charity_  


It was raining. It was winter in Elenia, barely a week before the turn of the year, so the matching turn in weather wasn't that surprising. Still, the knight riding back into town would have preferred a little more warm a welcome. Up in the distance the city gates were just visible - closed, but that suited him fine. Announcing his return at the palace could wait until tomorrow anyway.

He was met well before the chapterhouse came into view by what could, for a moment, have been his reflection: a second knight in a long oilskin cloak, travelling packs behind his saddle, riding a thick-necked war horse slowly out through the murky rain. Only up close was it noticeable that the second horse was a bay, perhaps a half hand taller than his own gray mare. The rider was taller, too, and the sodden lines of his cloak hinted at a man of rangy build, without the bulk of black lacquered armor showing underneath.

The rider stopped a few feet away on the road and lifted the edge of his hood. "You're late, my lord Khalad."

He reined in and Dusk halted obediently, with only a silent flick of one ear to indicate her impatience. Khalad patted her neck in understanding. He noted idly that the road home had been repaved again while he'd been away. "There was an accident on the road."

"Couldn't you just step around it?"

Khalad sighed. "That's the trouble with being a Church Knight. People have this strange expectation that you'll stop and help."

"And you actually did? You're a credit to the Order, my lord. I'm almost disappointed in you."

"You'll get over it. What's so important that I'm back in Cimmura so soon?"

"I wouldn't know about that. Sparhawk's waiting for you in the north tower, though."

That surprised him. More than it should have, he supposed. The message in his pack was signed by his lord, after all, and Sparhawk never wasted time if he could help it. "I thought he'd be up at the palace."

"So did the Queen."

Khalad smirked. "Well, then I won't keep him waiting." He nudged Dusk and she snorted, pleased to be heading in out of the rain again. He held out a hand to the other knight as he passed and clasped the slim forearm in farewell. This close, any differences paled to a visible resemblance between the two. "Will you be back any time soon, Khoris?"

His younger brother shrugged. "Six weeks or so."

He nodded. "Avoid the east road. I doubt they'll manage to move that caravan that caught me before morning."

At that farewell, he released his grip and nudged Dusk into a careful walk. The new paving was smooth and a little slippery as they neared the imposing bulk of the chapterhouse, home of the Pandion Knights of Cimmura. He worked his way through the ritual at the gate with only a mild impatience, even when the rain started to seep in through the joints of his left gauntlet, and made a mental note to get that adjusted again while he was home.

He spotted the light in the north tower even as he dismounted, handing Dusk over to a stablehand with an affectionate pat. The rest of the courtyard and battlements were almost deserted as he made his way up there, although he could hear the echo of chatter and the smell of hot stew floating up from the kitchens.

"Armor won't keep you warm in this weather, you know," was Sparhawk's greeting. He looked as he always had to Khalad - tall and imposing, the broken nose making him look more bad tempered than rakish. More than anything, he looked...

It was odd, Khalad had realised this some time ago. It was Sparhawk's face, and he'd known Sparhawk from his earliest childhood. He shouldn't begrudge any man his own features, least of all his own lord, and yet he still found it strange. For years now, since Cyrga, there had been something distracting about the expression, the movement of the lips... something not quite _Berit_.

He shrugged that off as he always had, removing his cloak and tossing it across an empty chair.

"It was prudent," was all he said, shrugging. "Bandits don't usually wait for a traveler to strap on his armor."

Sparhawk frowned. "Trouble?"

"Nothing of import." With some difficulty, he started the task of unstrapping his armor. There was a roaring fire in the grate, and already he felt like a roast beginning to broil. "Talen sent warning. I took care of the problem." He frowned as a thought hit him. "Free of charge, too, and it saved Platime's people the work. I think I'll have a few words with my brother in the morning." He breathed a sigh as the breastplate came loose. "So, Sparhawk, why call me back to Cimmura so soon? I'm not nearly started on a report for you."

Sparhawk turned toward a darkened corner of the tower room. The west corner seemed to swallow the firelight like a tunnel: but as Khalad watched, the shadows drew back and revealed a woman sitting in a low chair, watching them both with an affectionate expression. She had long dark hair that shone in the firelight, and deep, intelligent eyes, and she looked as young as the last day Khalad had seen her.

He grinned in surprise and bowed low. "Little mother."

Sephrenia smiled up at him in greeting. "We may have a small problem," she said.

  


*

  


**  
** _2\. Obedience_  


Berit did usually attend the morning service whenever he was at the chapterhouse, even on those mornings when the frost was thick on the window of his room and he would have much rather been down here in the kitchens tucking into a warm loaf and perhaps even some newly cut cheese. This morning he was making do with a fresh but rapidly cooling loaf of nut bread, a cut of bacon and a mug of beer: the tables were unusually clear, and he wondered if the fires had been lit early in the chapel. Perhaps he should have gone this morning after all.

The only other knight eating this morning was a dark head bent over a plate at the other end of the table, close to the fire. Berit blinked.

"Khalad?"

The other knight looked up in surprise and blinked, himself, and then waved him down to the table. "Good morning," he said, raising his own mug in greeting.

Berit carried his plate and mug over and sat down. He'd been in Chyrellos when Khalad had been knighted and hadn't seen him since - he hadn't expected to, since the other man's first mission should have taken up the majority of Khalad's first months as a full-fledged Pandion. "I thought you were in Lamorkand," he said, biting into a slice of bacon.

"There was a problem," Khalad said shortly. "I'll be gone again in a week or two." He shrugged. "How are things in Cimmura?"

"Well enough," Berit answered. "Your brothers are acquitting themselves well. Talen's more than ready to enter his novitiate in the spring. He still seems to think he's going to escape Danae's clutches somehow, though."

Khalad chuckled. "I wish him luck."

"Don't we all." Berit smirked. He was certain that the young page did indeed have a plan to escape his upcoming betrothal, probably even one that he considered to be one of his more cunning, but everyone except him was perfectly aware that he was doomed. The Crown Princess Danae had grown into an utterly inescapable force of nature. Berit had once even seen her herding a group of the cats that now inhabited the castle, the matriarchal Mmrr strutting along at her heels. He was absolutely convinced that those cats were better spies than some of those in Platime's service.

He watched Khalad across the table. He'd grown pretty close to the younger man in the time they'd been traveling around Tamul together; more so than he felt with most of the other knights, even their other traveling companions. Sparhawk and Kalten were boyhood friends - he'd never shared that unspoken understanding they had, and didn't expect to. Khalad had been the first member of the Order he'd really spent that much time with, even if he hadn't been a knight. With Khalad, he felt a little more on even footing. With Khalad he felt - well, a sort of kinship.

If it could have just stayed at that, all things considered, he would have been perfectly pleased.

Berit didn't like to think he had prejudices, or at least not too many obvious ones. He harbored none of the usual illusions about heathen Styric cannibals, and he was happy to take instruction from any warrior and he certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to make an issue of their gender. Still, he would admit that he'd thought of Khalad as a peasant, even come to start thinking of him as his squire when he'd really gotten into the part, and Khalad had had his own expectations of the gentry as well. Things he'd expected the gentry didn't do... things that Berit had sort of expected that peasants did... things that as it turned out, two people left alone together for months of foreign travel did, even if they weren't sure it was a good idea, because it seemed like it wasn't a _bad_ idea, at the time.

Now, Khalad was sitting across from him, a full Pandion Knight, which changed things more than a little. Changed things in ways that meant he was sure he shouldn't feel quite the way he felt about Khalad any more.

"Is the bread that good?" Khalad asked dryly. He waved a slice in front of Berit's face.

"Sorry?"

"You look like you had less sleep than I did," Khalad said, grinning. "Be thankful you didn't spend the night on road from Demos." He held out the slice of bread. "Still hungry?"

Berit couldn't help it: Khalad's good humor was infectious. He shook his head, cutting a thick chunk of bacon and swallowed it with the last of his drink to avoid grinning back for no reason.

Perhaps he really should have gone to chapel this morning, after all.

  


*

  


**  
** _3\. Expertise_  


The lance crashed into black lacquered plate with a resounding crunch and an explosion of splinters. Sir Jerigh reeled back in his saddle under the blow - a new knight, not even as green as some on the yard today, he still had ridiculously bad form with the lance that made even some of the novices wince. Berit's strike had been clean, catching him dead center: from the sound of it he was only unlucky not to have unhorsed Jerigh entirely.

Khalad almost wished it was still raining. Then, at least, he could get in out of the practice yard instead of lining up for a new set of bruises all of his own. Somehow he'd always thought, even before Sparhawk had manhandled him into the gentry, that once a knight actually got to be a knight there was no need for this type of thing. He wasn't all that clean with the lance himself; he shared Sparhawk's preference for close fighting. Even Jerigh, who was considerably better with the longsword than the lance, found it difficult to beat Khalad in the practice ring.

For a moment he considered sending off a quick prayer to Aphrael for a stray raincloud, just on the off chance that she might be in a frivolous mood this afternoon. It was only just past midwinter, after all. A clear winter day in Cimmura was always something of a blasphemy.

He watched Berit wheel his horse around and raise what remained of his lance in acknowledgement. The other knight lifted his visor and tipped his own in salute. Khalad watched as they rode back to opposite ends of the lists, to where unlucky novices waited to exchange broken lances for fresh. There were only two more lances to go, but Berit looked as if he could go all day. He even threw Khalad a quick nod and a smile of greeting as he picked up his next lance.

Khalad grinned and raised his hand in answer. He enjoyed watching Berit show off his ability, even only in the practice lists. He'd missed the older knight during Berit's absence in Chyrellos, and then his own trip to Lamorkand, and he hadn't expected a chance to watch a practice so soon.

As if on cue, Berit raised his lance and then lowered it into place, nudging his mount forward. Even before the full on rush of speed, Khalad could see the way his friend settled into the saddle, allowing his lance to hover at exactly the right height to strike with devastating force into Jerigh's breastplate. He could also see that Jerigh had his lance too far to the right, and that it would strike unevenly when Berit rolled his shoulder as he would know to do, letting the blow glance off.

Sure enough, when the strike came, Berit's lance made a straight contact, while Jerigh's slid too far off target and hit only on Berit's shoulder. Berit rolled with the hit and let it become only a glancing blow, and Jerigh's lance cracked clean down the center but didn't shatter.

Khalad moved around the edge of the field as they changed lances again: further to the left he could get a better view of the hit when it came, and perhaps pick up something he could use himself, or pass on to Sparhawk when next he found a good moment. It seemed he spent far less time at his lord's side than his father, Kurik, had. Khalad was fairly certain that was not only Sparhawk's doing but Ehlana's as well; the Queen found it more than useful to have someone else she could send abroad in Sparhawk's place, who Sparhawk trusted enough that he couldn't possibly protest.

It had been Ehlana's idea to send him to Lamorkand, he was certain. Not that he'd minded, although he could imagine places he'd rather have the prospect of spending six months exploring. Quite a few of them brought memories of Berit.

He sighed. The time had passed faster than he'd expected since Matherion. It had been a few years, and although he hadn't spent a great deal of it in Berit's company, he wondered if he should have worked this through before now. He'd seen the look pass across Berit's face - his _own_ face - that morning, when he'd seen that Khalad was home again, and it pained him to think he'd not had the courage to bring it up then. Perhaps if he'd been less exhausted from his journey...

No, probably not.

There was a final crash of breaking oak as the two knights collided, this time directly in Khalad's line of sight. He could see the faint shudder that followed the blow down what remained of Berit's lance and into his braced shoulder, and the way Berit rocked with it as he absorbed the shock of the contact in his arm and chest, moving with practised ease. He could see the glint of sunlight on Berit's armor and the steam that rose from his horse in the cold air as they pulled up at the end of the lists.

He should have worked this through, he thought. He wished he could see how to do it.

  


*

  


**  
** _4\. Virtue_  


"I don't think we should tell Bevier about this," Ulath said mildly. "He doesn't take these things well. It's a problem with some people. Something about religion."

Berit did his best not to blush. He was particularly bad at that, and worse under the circumstances. The mention of religion opened up all sorts of unpleasant possibilities, first and foremost the one that he hadn't thought to check the list of prohibitions for something like - well, this.

"Is it - I mean -" He cleared his throat. "Is it..." He didn't want to say 'wrong'. He didn't, in point of fact, want to say anything at all, and frankly wondered what he'd been thinking, starting this conversation in the first place. And it wasn't as if he hadn't thought about other things, too. Wasn't as if he hadn't done them. There'd been no shortage of courtly young women interested during that whole Bhelliom business the first time, and more than a few since he'd been knighted too. And there had been that whole interlude with Elysoun... which admittedly had been back in Matherion and a good time ago. Word from the Imperial court had the Imperial Prince walking now. Had it really been that long?

That long since he'd travelled the length and breadth of the entire Tamul empire wearing Sparhawk's face with just Khalad for company?

Apparently it had.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had come on him back then, all things considered. It had been a particularly strange time, even for a Pandion Knight, so he probably could have dealt with a little more strangeness without much added confusion. But no, it had started now, when the most interesting distraction in his last few months had been that side trip to Chyrellos to escort Patriarch Ortzel's party from the Basilica to meet with Ehlana and Sparhawk. He almost hoped it was something exciting again. Whatever it was, it was a little late to interfere with his current problem.

"So what should I do?"

"Get him drunk," Kalten suggested dryly. "That always used to work with Sparhawk when we were boys."

"I think Berit's a little more serious about things than your adolescent fumbling," Tynian put in. "It's not the kind of thing that usually comes up in conversation unless you've given it a bit of thought." He eyed his burly blond companion speculatively. "Well, not for most people, anyway."

Berit heard his voice squeak as it came out. "_Sparhawk_?"

"Try not to listen to too much Kalten has to say on the matter," Tynian suggested. "After all, he gave up the confirmed bachelor routine for a nice young woman."

"Not one to talk," Ulath agreed.

At this point Berit wasn't sure if he should be, or indeed was, relieved or mortified by the whole conversation, not least because he was beginning to suspect things he was fairly sure he'd be wishing he didn't suspect for a long time to come.

"So it's - well, it's all right?"

Ulath shrugged. "Depends."

"On how _he_ feels about it," Tynian put in.

Berit blushed again. "I... I don't know."

"Well, he's fairly young," Kalten said. "That usually helps. Less scruples to get over. And he's a country boy."

"Definitely helps," Ulath added.

Berit put his head in his hands and wondered what he was doing even discussing it at all.

  


*

  


**  
** _5\. Faith_  


Khalad awoke amid the sweet-smelling grass of an emerald bier as familiar to him as the sun gracing the cloudless azure sky above; as familiar as the snowy white dove who alighted with dainty poise upon his broad shoulder and spoke with voice so sweet and musical in his ear.

"Prithee follow me, sir knight, e'er I may escort you to the garden of my divine mistress."

"I thought this was the garden of your mistress," he muttered.

_Khalad!_

He smiled at Aphrael's angry tone and looked up, reaching one hand up to stroke the dove who nestled against his neck, cooing softly. "Sorry, Divine One, but you know I'm not cut out for all that flowery talk. Obviously you need something or I wouldn't be here. Would you want me to get bored?"

Aphrael popped into existence in front of him standing in midair, her dark hair flying in a non-existent breeze, one tiny grass-stained foot tapping angrily on nothing. "You don't play nice," she said, scowling at him. He smiled.

"But I do love you, all the same."

Her scowl faded into a sweet little smile. "Oh, well, that's all right then." She offered her arms to him and he chuckled, opening his arms for her to fly into his embrace. Her little body weighed less than nothing as he carried her toward the gentle slope that led up to her elegant temple, the white dove cradled in her delicate hands. He didn't question the understanding that he should go toward the temple: for one, he knew enough not to question anything in this place, and for another thing, he'd never been here and not found himself heading for the temple.

"Please don't use logic here, Khalad." Aphrael gave him a pained look. "It makes my head hurt."

He chuckled. "What _can_ I do for you, then, Divine One?"

"You can help me with something," she said, very earnestly. He stopped at the base of the hill and looked at her in surprise. He was fairly certain Aphrael wasn't usually this straightforward in her requests.

"I wouldn't be, but I've tried everything else I can think of. You humans can be so frustrating when you put your minds to it. Berit's very good at it, as it turns out."

"Berit?" he said sharply. "What's wrong with Berit?"

Aphrael sighed. "There _you_ go. What makes you think there's anything wrong with him?"

He wasn't sure, except for her tone when she'd said it. "Well, if there isn't anything wrong with him-"

"I can't convince him of it," she said tiredly. "Believe me, I've been trying."

"So you want _me_ to try?" He raised his eyebrows. "Why me?"

"Khalad," she said firmly, "stop asking silly questions." She cocked her head at him and her voice softened. "Besides, don't you know why?"

He blushed, not least because he was fairly sure he did know, and aside from his own slightly conflicting feelings on the matter, he didn't feel it was the type of thing he should be talking about to a little girl, goddess or not.

Aphrael poked him sharply in the chest with one little finger. "Don't be ridiculous, Khalad," she said. "It's only love. That's my business, after all."

"You're just a child, Aphrael," he insisted uncomfortably.

"Now you _are_ being utterly ridiculous. Of course I'm not."

He winced. "Please don't talk to me about this, Divine One."

"This isn't going to work out if I don't," she said sharply. "Do _you_ think there's anything wrong with loving someone?"

"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "I suppose it depends on the people involved. I suppose if they're not hurting anyone, and if they really love each other, it's not so bad."

She looked up at him with a sad, hopeful look in her deep dark eyes, and took his face gently in her tiny hands. "Do they love each other, Khalad?"

He thought about it for a long few minutes. "I suppose so," he said quietly. It probably wasn't possible to lie here anyway. "Yes."

Aphrael squealed with delight and kissed him. He laughed and let her do that for a few minutes until he imagined he'd fulfilled his duty for the time being, and then held her at arms' length, still laughing.

"I suppose I should go and talk to him, then," he said. Aphrael smiled and patted him on the cheek.

"That would be nice. You can put me down now and I'll leave you two alone."

He smiled and did as he was told, and then turned and carried on up the gentle slope.

Aphrael's temple itself was just as he remembered it: crafted of pristine alabaster marble, but the arched entrance in front of him was now veiled in a golden gossamer curtain that was infinitely soft as he brushed his fingers against it. He lifted it aside with one hand and stepped inside.

The marble floor, cool as crisp winter beneath his feet, was arrayed with cushions of deep royal hue: seated upon them the most beautiful of youths, his blond hair as spun gold, his body crafted as of temple marble, his skin kissed bronze-

Khalad winced. _Aphrael,_ he thought sharply.

Soft tinkling laughter echoed through the temple rafters. Berit turned at the sound and looked up at him.

"Khalad?" he said. He sounded surprised. Khalad didn't exactly blame him. He smiled awkwardly and dropped the veil back across the door, hiding them both inside the temple.

"Hello, Berit."

  


*

  



End file.
